An Alternative to Suicide
by escape-into-myself
Summary: Alternate didn't commit suicide as the novel states. She was murdered. The novel just didn't want anyone to know just how gruesome living at the Wammy's house really was so they tried to blame the innocent.


Escape: Alright, I got the idea for this while I was trying to write another chapter for 'Dirty Little Secret' my girl!MattxNear fanfic. I will try to update that soon if anyone reading this cares. I don't own Death Note and I'm too lazy to do a disclaimer where I pretend to talk to the characters of the show.

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1 hour, 23 minutes, and 48 seconds. The red numbers are floating above Alternate's head giving her face a crimson glint. Her life would be ending tonight. She was going to take her life. She looked up at me from under her now limp brown hair through her endlessly green eyes. I notice the bags under her eyes and figure whatever she's been contemplating, it's rendered her an insomniac. Her once bright skin now pale and grey tinted. She closes her eyes and stretches her mouth along her teeth in an attempted smile.

"Hey Backup, how's it going?" She asks quietly and politely.

"It seems as though B is fairing better than A," I pointed out in my usual third person way of speech.

"It seems so. I just haven't been sleeping well is all. I should be fine by tomorrow," she fakes a smile for my sake. Lies. She won't be alive come morning. Personally, I don't care what she does as long as she's no longer L's favorite. I love her like a sister but because of her ranking, she was always favored by L.

After she says goodnight for the last time presumably, I watch her walk off to her room and realize that this would probably be the last time I ever see her if she goes through with it. But the thought crossed my mind that she wouldn't end her life and that the numbers were inaccurate. That thought made a feeling of unease bubble in my stomach. If my eyes were wrong, then that meant that I was imperfect; unworthy of becoming L. That couldn't happen. I was going to make sure that I was right even if I had to end it for her. I cannot be wrong. L is never wrong so I can't be either.

I walk through the empty corridors of Wammy's house to find the door labeled 'B' in old English. The door creaks open and I walk into my calmly depressing room. The walls and ceiling painted black while the bedspread was a dark red. A few months ago, I was bored of the plainness of it all and through some of my strawberry jam onto the walls creating a red splatter-like look.

I shuffle to my adjoining bathroom in my usual hunched stance and flick on the florescent light. I open my medicine cabinet and pull out my container of **Dalmane****, ****the sleep disorder drug I was prescribed a few weeks ago. I hid the bottle in my pocket along with a half empty bottle of wine I stolefrom the kitchen earlier today and shuffled out in socked feet to the hallway. **

** I turned my head of unruly, jetblack hair and started to count the doors until I reached A's. I placed a shaky hand on the doorknob and turned it to the right, knowing that she never locked her door unless she was getting a shower. **

**I walked into her bland, light green room and watch her sitting on her bed, facing away from me and staring out the window into the rain with her frail hands intertwined in her lap.**

**0 hours, 7 minutes, and 26 seconds. She is going to die tonight no matter what. I abondon my plan of accidentally having her overdose on sleeping medication with alcohol and grab a pink long sleve shirt out of her hamper. Overdosing would take longer than her time dictates; can't have that.**

**I stalk up behind her without making a noise and wrap thte sleeve around her little neck with her back pressed against my torso. She looks up at me with big, shocked doe eyes and I consider stopping myself. But I need to maintain order! And I'm not sure if I want to stop anymore; for once I feel like I'm in control and I love it. For once, I'm powerful. I can decide whether she lives or dies. I've already made my choice, though. She tries, unaffectively, to claw the shirt out of my hold but the ardenaline gives me so much more power than she could handle. I pulled tighter and listened to her choked cries as tears begin to flood her once beautiful eyes. They lost their beauty along time ago.**

**She silenty begs for me to release her and I only pull her harder into my stomach with the cloth. Her face starts to turn red and her eyes roll back a bit as her struggles become less and less forceful. **

**"Shhh," I whisper into her ear as her beathing becomes ever slower and finally comes to a halt right as her numbers reach zero. I've done it; I've killed her. I played God. I am God.**

**I don't even care if the authorities know that this wasn't a suicide. I'd be pretty ashamed of our country if the fact that this was murder wasn't painfully obvious. I want them to know I did this. I want them to worship me as a god. I fumble through her desk drawers looking for a pice of paper and something to write with. I found a notebook and a red sharpie in the middle drawer and scrawl in untidy print: "B comes before L".**

**I don't want to become L anymore; they can give that position to the lower ranked students. I want to surpass L. If I can't do it by his rules, I'll just have to become the one case that he can't solve. If I can keep doing this, if I can stay in control, I'd have won. **

I lift the glass window as high as its wood casing would allow and leap out into the cool, rainy night air. I run away from my childhood home shrouded by a veil of darkness until the lightning strikes about three miles away, illuminating my lanky frame. I was going to kill again and again before he catches me. I was going to kill myself as a final murder. He can't solve the case if the criminal is deceased. I won't let him have the satisfaction of knowing he beat me.

I am better than L.

L P.O.V.

The thunder from the storm was a bit louder than it should have been in its last strike. Did someone in the orphanage have their window opened? If they did, it would have to be close. I squint to see the analog clock above the archway in the dark orphanage. It was already a few hours past curfew and the lights were dead from the storm, giving it an eerie feel. I walk past each door, and crack it open just enough to see that its respective child was there and that their window was closed.

I walk past Near's pale white room and see that he has his plain curtains pulled to hide the stormy night as he sleeps in his bed for one of the few times this week.

I closed the door silently, not wanting to wake the mild insomniac, and shuffle eleven steps down the hallway and open Matt's door slightly. His window was covered by the mattress of the empty second bed as he sat on the floor facing away from me playing a handheld videogame. The red head was always terrified of thunder storms; he found his parents' dead bodies on the floor of their living room because of a flash of lightning. He gave me a weak wave of his left hand, acknowledging my presence, before I shut the door with a light 'click'.

The door across the hall was my fourth in line, Mello. I doubted he would have sneaked out since he tries unnaturally hard to gain my praise. I quietly open the door to his tidy room to find him studying by candle light; trying to beat Near again, I suppose. He turns his head to look at the intruder with a glare that transforms into a large, toothy smile when he sees me. I put a finger to my mouth and whisper 'shhh' as I shuffle out the door.

I walk down the long corridors to the girls' dormitory and open the door to Linda's room. Her window was closed as her five year old body was moving slightly under her pink Barbie comforter. I look around the room and found it was littered with her art like usual. Not that I didn't appreciate her talent, it just seemed silly that she was at a school for geniuses with nothing other than artistic abilities. I sigh and walk back out to her neighbor's room.

I open Alternate's door and see that it was her who had the window wide open with the rain starting to pour in. I shuffle into the dark room and stub my toe on something making me curse quietly under my breath. Once I regain my composure, I walk the rest of the way to her window and lower it without making too much noise and turn to walk back out of my first successor's room. The lightning flashes and it illuminates her face. I have to repress a scream as I see her pale features staring at me in the light of the storm.

But something was different. She would have something by now if she was caught staring right? I rummage around her desk drawer until I find a small keychain flashlight hidden beneath a couple notebooks. I flip it on and turn the small beam of light to her face.

She wasn't staring at me.

Her eyes were lifeless and a pale grey rather than the green hue they used to flaunt. She wasn't breathing either. I drop the flashlight as I realize I'm in the same room as a corpse. This wouldn't have bothered me if it wasn't the dead body of my good friend lying on her bed, lifeless. I bit my tongue to hold back the scream that was threatening to escape. I pick up the light shakily as I spot a piece of paper lying on the floor next to A's bed. I scanned over it a few times, looking for a meaning that would have been obvious if I wasn't so terrified.

B.

B did this. He killed A to get ahead in the rankings. Backup always did want to beat me; this must have been his way of trying to break me. I shine the light over the floor near the window and see that there were faint footprints in the carpet. They weren't very noticeable but the area where someone, B I'm assuming, stepped was darker than the surrounding area due to the fibers of the rug condensing under the weight.

Backup had killed her to beat me, and he escaped.

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Escape: Soooooo was it okay? I hope so. And did you find it? Did you, did you? The word 'escape' is thrown into everyone of my stories apart from the author's notes. Please review and I'll give you a hug over PM.


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